Kill Now, Pay Later (Hard Case Crime (Mass Market Paperback)) Page 3

  “My point exactly,” Minturn said. “I promised myself I was going to have his license, but now I don’t know if it’s necessary. His publicity is going to be very bad, as he’ll find out when he sees the afternoon papers. Not that I look on that version as final. By no means. If Gates and Moran worked out this stunt together—”

  I broke in. “There’s a name. And just who is Moran?”

  “Leo Moran,” Davidson said. “If the lieutenant will give me a minute?”

  Minturn hesitated. “Go ahead, but make it brief. I want to see how he takes it, not that it matters a hell of a lot.”

  Davidson sat on one arm of the couch and flicked a nonexistent ash from his cigarette. “You had it figured, Ben,” he said, without looking at me. “If I’d been standing up with a pistol butt sticking out of my coat, he would have turned around and gone home. But no. I’m just on the Jay-Vees around here. I did what you told me.”

  “None of this false modesty,” Minturn said. “I don’t like it. You’ll notice that when I was talking to the newspaper boys I gave you full credit.”

  “Thanks,” Davidson said. “It’ll probably bring me in loads of business. Now if you don’t mind?”

  “Go ahead, go ahead.”

  “I stretched out in a chair,” Davidson said. “It was a comfortable chair and I damn near went to sleep myself before he came in.”

  “When was this?” I said.

  “Just before midnight. Good-looking guy, gone to seed a little. He took a quick look and went back to the hall for one of those folding caterer’s baskets. You know what I mean. Aluminum framework covered with purple canvas. I had a hard time keeping my eyes shut, because it occurred to me that he might want to sap us to make sure we were really out. But he went straight to the jewelry table and began shoveling stuff in. Am I boring you, Ben?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I took out my gun. When that happens on television they put their hands up. But he grabbed out his own gun and it went off. You’ll find a hole in the back of the couch right where you’re sitting, Ben. It didn’t miss you by more than a whisker. You went on snoring.”

  He studied the end of the cigarette. “According to the number of rounds I had left when it was over, I fired five times. I hit him with three of them. He lost quite a bit of blood going down the hall. I got him again as he went over the railing of the terrace, and that one did it. He had the container under his arm and it broke when he landed. Diamonds were scattered around the lawn like dandelions.”

  “That’s one,” I said. “Who else is dead?”

  “Mrs. Pope,” Davidson said. “That necklace she was wearing must have been quite tempting to anybody who likes that kind of trinket. She kept it in a wall safe in her bedroom, and when she opened the safe to put it away, he jumped out at her. He was wearing one of those Halloween horror masks. The lady had a heart history, it seems. She fell down dead. He had some adhesive tape to tie her up, but he didn’t need to use it. He got all the junk in the safe as well as what she was wearing. A very nice take.”

  “Fully covered by insurance,” Hamilton observed.

  “Is there any doubt about the cause of death?” I said.

  “None whatever,” Minturn said. “And if I remember rightly, this would qualify Moran for second-degree murder, even if he never laid a finger on her. But it’s academic. You can’t indict a corpse. So that about does it.”

  I disagreed, but before I could say anything there was a faint tapping at the door. A girl came in.

  She was the new acquaintance I had made the night before. Everybody I had seen so far this morning had been the worse for wear, and she was no exception. She was wearing a white blouse and a flannel skirt, and she seemed to be built to different specifications now that she had shoes on. The specifications were still very nice, however. Her lipstick, which happened to be the same shade I myself was wearing, had been applied with care. There were lines on her face that hadn’t been there when I saw her last—tiny pain wrinkles on her forehead and marks beneath her eyes.

  And she had brought the diamond bracelet she had boosted from under my nose the night before, just before the roof fell in.

  Chapter 3

  “Excuse me,” she said shakily. “I know I shouldn’t be bothering you, but I thought—”

  Hamilton swooped down on the bracelet. “That’s the one, all right,” he announced. “Forty-one hundred dollars. Now suppose you tell us where you got it.”

  “I’m not really sure.” She looked about the room. When she saw me her lips made a small mechanical movement, not quite a smile. “Oh. Good morning. I’m a little vague about last night. I was pretty terrible, wasn’t I?”

  “You were pretty drunk,” I said. “First you thought it would be fun to try on a bracelet and see what I’d do. I locked the door and called Davidson. Then your fiancé, or your ex-fiancé, banged on the door and you thought it would be fun to make him jealous. That’s how the lipstick got on my face. That’s all that happened, but you couldn’t expect a cop to believe anything so obvious.”

  She looked at Davidson. “I didn’t realize you were—”

  “This is Lieutenant Minturn,” I said.

  “How do you do?” she said. “I’m Shelley Hardwick. At least I think I am. I’m going to stay away from weddings for a while. I’m sorry to say it probably happened just the way Mr.—?”

  “Gates,” I said.

  “The way Mr. Gates says it did. It sounds like me, after champagne. When I woke up this morning I couldn’t imagine where I got this bracelet, but I was pretty sure it was one of the wedding presents. I didn’t think they gave bracelets away yesterday for favors. I was hoping to get it back before anyone knew it was missing.”

  Hamilton made a check mark in his folder. “That’s the complete list, Lieutenant. I’m afraid he’s in the clear.”

  The marks between the girl’s eyes deepened. “Surely you didn’t think Mr. Gates had—” Her eyes went from the empty champagne bottle to the glass and back to my face. “But that’s absurd.”

  “It’s absurd, all right,” I said. “But private detectives are very uncouth. One drink of champagne and they go wild. You came in alone, and where you made your mistake was taking off your shoes. It’s not every day I find myself alone in a room with a barefooted bridesmaid. I locked the door and tried to steal a kiss. You scratched my face, which was the least I deserved. At that point I switched tactics, and gave you a diamond bracelet. Luckily Davidson came in before I could get really ugly. That’s the police theory, and if you’d ever tried to get a theory out of a cop’s head you wouldn’t try it this time.”

  “But it isn’t true!” she cried, and added, “Is it?”

  “That’s immaterial,” Lieutenant Minturn said. “Don’t get yourself all worked up about poor persecuted Gates, Miss Hardwick. He goofed in a big way, but there’s no charge against him. He’s free to go.”

  She looked at me. “I’ve made it worse, haven’t I?”

  “It was bad enough already.”

  “But—I don’t understand,” she said. “I know I’m not functioning too well this morning, so maybe you’d better not explain it to me.”

  Hamilton put the bracelet back on the table. She gave it a final tender glance.

  “Goodbye, you lovely thing.”

  She repeated the slight lip movement, which was probably intended as a smile, and went out.

  “Pretty well stacked,” Minturn observed. “Now that I’ve seen that, Gates, I’m not so surprised. It’s Antony and Cleopatra all over again. Love conquers duty.” He stood up. “You must have a lot to do somewhere. Don’t let us keep you.”

  I would have preferred to do it standing up, but I was too feeble. “I won’t try to change your mind. I like girls, but I don’t give them other people’s diamond bracelets. You can’t be expected to know that. I can see why your version appeals to you. You hardly ever get a case which is solved by the time you get there. Moran killed Mrs. Pope, Davidson took care o
f Moran. Quick action by Lieutenant Minturn of the State Police led to the recovery of the stolen jewelry. Ben Gates is a drunken bum, but let’s not worry about that. There’s just one thing that bothers me. Did you ever hear of a job like this without an inside man?”

  “What’s your point, Gates?” Minturn said impatiently.

  “Moran must have been hiding in Mrs. Pope’s bedroom until she opened the safe.”

  “There’s quite a big closet, almost a dressing room. He was probably in there. What about it?”

  “He was taking quite a chance. How did he know there was enough in the safe to make it worth his while?”

  “We’re bearing that in mind. This investigation isn’t finished, by any means.”

  “The simplest way to go about it,” I said, “would be to find out who put that charge in my coffee.”

  He gave a little howl, as though I had jabbed him with something sharp. “I might have known. All right, for the sake of argument. Say somebody tipped him off about Mrs. Pope’s habits, where she kept the jewelry and so on. Some disgruntled servant or ex-servant. Moran’s dead. If this hypothetical accomplice took the precaution of having nothing to do with the actual robbery he or she has nothing to fear. The Pope family has suffered a terrible tragedy. I, for one, see no reason to make things worse by a lot of snooping and prying that can only muddy the waters.”

  “Yes, he’s probably a big taxpayer,” I said.

  “That has nothing to do with it,” Minturn snapped. “Hamilton, I take it that Gates is no longer employed by you?”

  “That is correct,” Hamilton said, taking little bites at the words. “And looking into my crystal ball, I’d say it’s unlikely he will be employed by us in the future.”

  “That would seem to leave you without status, Gates,” Minturn said. “But I don’t want to seem unreasonable. If I come across anything that tends to bear out your story, I’ll let you know.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I said. “Would you mind if I have a word with the cook before, I go?”

  “I would, as a matter of fact. Only one person is going to be asking questions in this house. That’s me. Take my advice. Don’t hang around the neighborhood. Go back to New York.”

  That was a piece of advice I didn’t intend to take, and he probably knew it, for he said more emphatically, “You’ve got to ride with this one, Gates. It would be a lot of trouble for me to get a special hearing convened to suspend your license. A lot of trouble and a lot of paperwork, but if you force me to, I’ll just have to go to that trouble.”

  We continued to look at each other. I was fascinated by the teeth. They would have made a wonderful prop for a hypnotist. He still didn’t think he had made himself clear. He added, “This is my neck of the woods out here, Gates.”

  “Can I wash?” I said. “And I’d appreciate a couple of aspirin and a bicarb.”

  “Certainly,” he said, relaxing.

  I glanced at Davidson as I stood up. I didn’t need to say anything; he got the message.

  Minturn called one of his men. This one was wearing full regalia, including the musical-comedy hat. Minturn turned on his teeth in a final smile, all but blinding me. He gave my shoulder a dig with his bunched fingers.

  “Next time better stick to Coca-Cola,” he said. “If there is a next time.”

  Hamilton snickered. All this made it perfectly clear. They didn’t have to disturb the Secretary of State, who was a busy politician. I could keep my license, but it might as well be void for any good it would do me. No private detective who gets drunk and falls asleep in the midst of the wedding presents he is being paid to guard can expect to go on getting business.

  The trooper took me to a bathroom. He had the delicacy to wait outside. I washed carefully, but the scratches opened up again. By the time I had them under control I looked a good deal less sinister. I found an electric razor in the medicine cabinet, and I have to admit I used a toothbrush that didn’t belong to me, a crime only a little less serious than insulting the flag. Then I lit a cigar and waited for the aspirin to take hold.

  Finally the trooper knocked on the door. I gave it a few more minutes before going out. He was annoyed by the delay. Having gathered from Minturn that it wasn’t necessary to be polite, he took me by the arm, as though feeling my muscle.

  I stood still. I have a prejudice against being bounced, especially by cops.

  “As a matter of procedure,” I said, “there’s been a death in the family, and the lieutenant doesn’t want any unnecessary commotion. There will be one if you don’t let go of my arm.”

  After a moment he let go. It was a small victory, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

  The undertaker’s people couldn’t have arrived in force, but the house had that strange hush that goes with the period before a funeral. I looked into the living room as I passed. Ten or twelve serious and well-dressed people were gathered there. The only one I recognized was Junior, standing in front of a raised fireplace holding a drink, like an ad for Scotch. He had been red in the face when I saw him last, but he was pale now, as though he had donated more blood to the Red Cross than he could spare. He was wearing a dark suit and a dark tie, and the highball was also very dark, the rich hand-rubbed color of undiluted whiskey. He caught my eye, and the drink halted halfway to his mouth.

  I went past. One of the troopers at the door grinned and said something to a colleague. Outside, a photographer jumped down from a railing.

  “Aren’t you Ben Gates?” he said.

  Now I knew how criminals feel when they pull their hats in front of their faces to keep from being photographed. Unfortunately I wasn’t wearing a hat.

  “That’s right,” I said pleasantly.

  His camera came up. “They tell me you slept through the excitement. How’s the hangover this morning, pretty painful?”

  He tripped the shutter, hoping to catch a reaction his paper could use.

  I smiled forgivingly. “I was off duty at the time, so I’d better let Lieutenant Minturn issue the statements. This is the first time we’ve worked together, but he impresses me as a highly competent police officer. It’s obvious that Moran wasn’t a loner. He had help from inside, and we’re working on that now. I’m not at liberty to say anything more. What’s the matter, Jack? You’re not getting this down.”

  He closed his mouth and fumbled in his pocket for pencil and paper.

  On the lawn, the caterer’s men were striking the marquee. They hadn’t begun the large task of policing up the empty bottles. The trooper took me all the way to my Buick, and watched me drive off. I checked the rear-view mirror at the foot of the drive; he was still watching. It was a big house, dating from a period when servants were more numerous and less costly. Davidson, I knew, was also watching from one of the many windows, to see which way I turned. I flashed the directional blinker, took the turn toward the parkway, and stopped at the first gas station. I told the attendant to fill the tank and see if the Buick needed anything else. I went into a lunchroom next to the station. I had to order something, so I ordered coffee. When it came I did my best to ignore it.

  A car pulled up outside and Davidson came in. He took the stool next to mine.

  “What do they put in the coffee here, Ben?”

  “Just coffee, I hope.”

  He laid a slip of paper on the counter. “That’s the maid’s name. The address is in Prosper, a couple of miles down the road. She was hired for the night. They call her when they need somebody special for a dinner or a party.”

  I put the paper in my pocket. He ordered coffee and a repulsive kind of pastry, and when the waitress had returned to her post at the cash register he said, “In confidence, Ben—how much did you drink last night?”

  I was still convalescing. I started violently, nearly knocking over a ketchup bottle. “Please, Irving.”

  “Well, you were coming out with some of the damnedest snores. You certainly sounded drunk. But it was the coffee?”

  “It was the c
offee,” I said.

  “All right. I suppose I believe you. I talked to the cook. She’s a little hungover herself this morning, and she wasn’t too helpful. She had a gallon pot of coffee on the stove all evening, and when anybody wanted some they helped themselves. She thinks Pope’s secretary, somebody named Miss DeLong, suggested that the man in the library might be hungry.”

  “Who filled the small pot? The cook or the girl who brought it up?”

  “The cook. Her name’s Mrs. Maguire. And there was something about sandwiches. People were coming and going all the time. The girl could have set the tray down when she went out to the buffet. Mrs. Maguire doesn’t know how the empty pot got back to the kitchen, or who washed it and put it away. In other words, the dice are chilly, Ben. She didn’t want to talk to me much, and those troopers were breathing down the back of my neck. I paid five bucks for this small amount of information. You’ll get a bill.”

  “Are you working on anything right now?”

  He sighed. “I was afraid that was coming. Would I get paid?”

  “Have you ever done any work for me and not been paid?”

  “No-o-o,” he said. “But this is a little unusual, wouldn’t you say? I don’t mean I won’t do it. I just want to keep it under the counter. Minturn is the big law-enforcement man around here, and he’s already hinted that he can throw me some business, lucky me.”

  “What do you make of him, Irving?”

  “He seems to be a pretty good cop. But I gather that Pope Senior has strong political connections, based on his generosity when they come around begging for money. It may be that Minturn has had the word. I’d say he’s being more of the feudal serf than the situation calls for.”

  “Are you due back?”

  “Yeah, they’re probably looking for me now. I’m their number-one gunslinger, after all.”

  His hand shook as he lifted his mug; some of the coffee slopped over. “Well, hell, Ben,” he said after taking a noisy sip and putting the mug on the counter, “that was a long, noisy night. I never shot at anything but a paper target before.”